


Someday colors

by lizzieraindrops



Series: Herbs on the windowsill [2]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Gen, Healing, Multi, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Orphan Black Series 02: Helsinki, Platonic Cuddling, Psychological Trauma, Queerplatonic Relationships, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:09:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7853803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzieraindrops/pseuds/lizzieraindrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another slice of life from the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6795997"><i>Herbs on the windowsill</i></a> universe, where Veera Suominen and Niki Lintula survive and get an apartment together after the events of Helsinki and become qpp's. An alternate timeline where the original Helsinki massacre was prevented and DYAD routed by Clone Club Alpha's successful publicity stunt back in 2001. Everyone lived, but many survived with invisible scars.</p><p>Thanks to my string sestra for beta-ing. <3</p><p>Also posted <a href="http://lizzieraindrops.tumblr.com/post/149394795984/someday-colors-3315-words">on tumblr</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday colors

Niki forgets, sometimes.

Once, she'd thought she'd like nothing more than to forget. That it would be better to drown the coals of _I almost lost everything_ in the cold waters of the gulf, and never dare dredge the depths. That was before she learned there are bad kinds of forgetting, as well as good. Maybe they're the same. Maybe they're not.

Either way, some mornings (and midnights), she wakes up in her little room in the apartment, and she doesn't remember that it's _their_ apartment. Nearly every day she wakes in fear with a wrong feeling in her chest, and has to remind herself anew that this is the safe place she - they - have made, and that it's all over. She doesn't always believe herself. If all the terrible things are done, then why is she still afraid? After their brief flare of worldwide fame as the 'Hundreds of Young Girls Tragically Subject to Eugenical Human Experimentation,' the world had continued on as if unchanged. So how did she get here, and why isn't she the same anymore? And if she, too, manages to forget all the awfulness, then how can she remember all the _good_ that grew out of it? The connections she’d forged, the enormous extended family she’d become a part of: they mean everything to her now. So why do they keep receding from her mind like dreams, as if they don’t matter at all?

Sometimes, she even forgets _Veera_ , and that terrifies her.

Another perfect morning. It's soft and sunlit, a misty pale gold warming the pink and green pastels of the quilt from her grandmother. The worn softness is gathered in bunches around her knees and her waist. She must have twisted herself up in it overnight again. It's not too early or too late to be waking; not too cold or too warm to be comfortable. It's quiet enough to be easy, but filled with enough small soundless sounds that the silence itself is softened. Niki rolls over with a sigh. She still hurts anyway. She wonders if someday, she might be okay again.

Except - someday has already come, and she keeps _forgetting_ it. It's here right now. _Someday_ started when they said _sister_ and swore they'd never be apart. They planted the seeds of _someday_ that night on the ferry to Gdansk, when they pinkie swore to guard each other's secrets as their own. _Someday_ became _today_ the day they walked under the exposed-wood lintel of this two-bedroom-one-bath on the third floor. It began the moment they unloaded a few bright armfuls of clothes onto the threadbare brown carpet of the empty living room, and something felt _right_.

Niki closes her eyes and lets her hair fall over her face to shade them. She lets herself lay there soft and slumped, instead of pinned upright into a façade of confident cheer. She's not strong: she's only had to be. She'd worn that false face so often for the press, when they'd told their story. Someone had had to _sell_ it, to make them believe. Justyna had been too wild, Sofia too timid. Perception was everything. Niki learned that a long time ago. People could deny any truth as long as you looked weird enough, _crazy_ enough, that they didn't have to believe you. Veera knew that, too, better than most. And yet, somehow she'd still been willing to try, for all of them, to bear the unforgiving weight of the world's regard on shoulders that flinched from sidelong glances. She’s the bravest person Niki knows.

Niki could never have let her do it alone.

But it had worked. They were safe, now. After a few agonizing months of official investigations and public appearances, Niki was safer and freer than she'd ever been in her life. Although, with her new self-awareness and the raw reality of the terrors she's been through, she's more lost now than found. But that's alright, here; because it's safe here. Someday, with time, she'll heal. And now, like a flower slowly unfurling its petals to the return of dawn, she _remembers_ , and all the blessings that came with the curse are real, too.

Niki sits up in the quiet and just breathes. She hugs her knees to her chest and hangs her head against them. Good memories start trickling back into her like life flooding back into numb limbs.

 _Someday_ became _now_ the day Veera came home with a brilliant green basil plant in her arms and her smiling face buried in its aromatic leaves. She promptly shoved it roots and all into a vase and filled it with water, as if it were a bouquet. The next morning, frantic with worry, Veera had woken Niki up at the crack of dawn and dragged her to the kitchen bleary-eyed. The poor plant's soft stems were drooping nearly double, weighed down by leaves pale with water stress. Niki had had to poke holes in the bottom of a large tin can and properly plant it while the sun rose. Fortunately, they still had some soil leftover from when she repotted the philodendron in the living room. Veera hovered nearby, alternately peering over her shoulder and going about fixing them some tea.

"See? It's fine," she told Veera later that day, when the plant had perked up a bit. In its new home, it was tentatively lifting its curved leaves into the wash of afternoon light. Veera hung back as if afraid to hurt it, tugging anxiously at the drawstrings of her hoodie.

"Are you sure?" she asked. Her voice was so constricted and small. It was hard to believe the same throat could sometimes produce the rare, delighted full-body laugh that made Niki's ears ring with its carefree joy.

Well. Niki herself could laugh if Veera couldn't, and she had, warmly. How could she not, when someone so gentle at heart was - what? Here. Safe. Real. Still gentle and precariously whole, in spite of the cruelty of the world and the ordeals they'd been through. Here with her, and somehow: hers. Hers with a familial depth of belonging unlike anything Niki has ever known.

So she laughed for joy, and reached out slowly for Veera's hands where they curled in close to her chest. Slowly, just in case Veera was in one of those states where any touch was too much. Still reaching out anyway, because she knew how often they both craved a friendly, trusted touch like air, like water, like sunlight, like soil.

Someday, maybe, Niki will learn to trust people again. If Veera can come through a lifetime of loneliness and the personal hell of what happened in Helsinki, and still worry about a wilting basil plant, then there's enough good in the world for Niki to believe in. But for now, Veera is the only one she trusts deep. Her ex-boyfriend spied on her; her own parents lied to her. Niki doesn't yet know if she'll ever be able to forgive that. Likewise, she doesn't know how to talk to people from her life _before_ , without wondering if _they_ lied to her, too. Maybe it was all just talk.

But Veera has always favored actions over words. Since the beginning, she's consistently proven to Niki that she can trust her. Veera won't lie to her or drug her into a forgetful sleep: she knows what that's like. Veera will keep her secrets safe, because she _understands_. Veera won't stand by to let strangers come into her room, and let them touch her or take samples of her blood. Veera stopped one grown man from abducting her and another one from killing her. These days, Niki is full of doubt about everything except her.

"Of course I'm sure," Niki answered. Veera's hands didn't flinch away from her own reaching ones, so she caught her palms and held them. Even now, the curled heaviness in her chest lightens at the memory of Veera's soft fingers, instantly folding over hers in response. "Look, it's already bouncing back. By tomorrow it'll be green again. It's gonna be okay." She gently tugged Veera over to the windowsill by their joined hands. Veera's mismatched sock feet patted a few soundless steps on the linoleum. Niki took one of Veera's hands and cupped it around the basil's silken leaves, then lifted her own other hand to meet it, so that they held a fragile sprig of spring green between them both.

"See? The leaves aren't limp anymore. It's okay," Niki said softly.

Veera nodded, slowly. She brushed a thumb feather-light over one smooth leaf, then down-soft over the palm of Niki's hand. Then she pulled her hand back from the plant, bringing Niki's with it. The shadows of her hood threw the contours of her face into sharp relief in the brightness of the kitchen. Even aside from the scars, Niki is always surprised by how different she looks. It’s less in the actual features of her face, and more in the way expressions form on them: the quirk at the corners of her mouth, the tilt of her head, the intensity of eyes sparingly met. It’s in the way her entire body moves through space a little differently than hers. "Maybe you should water it, instead," Veera said.

Niki smiled and squeezed the hand she'd still held. "Sure thing." Niki likes taking care of the little things. Sometimes, that's the only way to fight the larger fight against everything bad. That, and the returned pressure of familiar fingers against hers.

Niki's eyes flutter open from the memory. She's still sitting softly in her bed, wrapped in the cotton of her quilt, with bright morning light filtering through her pink gauze curtains. She still hurts - the betrayed thing in her chest is always hurting - but less, now. If she gets up, she might find Veera in the living room, willing to give her one of those close, clinging hugs that make Niki feel like the entire world is right here, between and within the two of them. And nine times out of ten, Veera will, without hesitation. With most people, Veera hardly permits anything but the most cursory and necessary of touches. Yet, with Niki, rare is the day that goes by without physical contact between them like a touchstone. And this is how they both want it to be: so it is.

Niki unwraps herself from the quilt and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. She wiggles her toes against the softness of the rug: one of many they've accumulated to relieve the harsh cold floors. This one is muted blue and made of loops of polyester fluff. The one by her bedroom door is a soft yellow, and the terry-cloth one in the bathroom is patterned in zig-zags of vibrant pink and purple. They're aiming to acquire one of every imaginable color.

She slowly stands up in her thin cotton tee and sleep shorts, feet buried in the rug. She stretches her arms over her head a little, but soon drops them. The weight in her chest is still too heavy for that. It’s a persistent, tense ache that makes her want to curl up in a ball to relieve it. She drifts in a sleepy daze toward the bathroom, splashes water on her face, slowly brushes the tangles out of the length her hair. She wanders out to the sunny semi-divided south room that holds both the kitchen and living area.

Veera is there, pouring herself a bowl of cornflakes. Standing framed in front of the bright kitchen window, it looks like the basil on the sill is sprouting from her lowered hood. She looks up in greeting when Niki enters, though Veera's sharp ears have undoubtedly already made her aware of her presence. Niki smiles at her. It's the kind of smile that hurts, because she knows deeply that everything isn't okay. And yet, some things are, and she's looking at one of them. She can't help but smile anyway, and lift her arms toward Veera in askance.

Veera's eyes widen slightly as she finishes processing the unspoken request, and immediately scurries toward her to slip under her outstretched arms into the embrace. Veera's arms wrap firmly all the way around her, doubled up across her back. The aching tension under Niki’s ribs and between her shoulders releases a little.

Veera lays her head right beside hers and nestles it close into her neck. When Suvi does that, it makes chills break out and run electric all the way down Niki's arms. And Niki likes that. But when Veera does it, Niki finds her heart beating slower and her soul feeling softer. And Niki _needs_ that. Niki still cares about Suvi; a lot. But nothing stayed the same after her life imploded a year ago. _Niki_ isn't the same. Whatever she had with Suvi will need to change, too, if they want to keep it.

Suvi claims she was never a part of the lying and the spying, and Niki desperately wants that to be true. It probably _is_ true. Reason is on her side: Niki already knows who her monitor was, and it wasn't Suvi. Niki wants to believe her so badly, but she doesn't quite know yet how to let her guard down again. She still goes out to lunch with her every now and then. But it will take time for all the dust to settle. Time that Niki will have, thanks to Veera, now that she's survived the collapse of her fabricated life.

For just a moment, Niki feels her mind _slip,_ and none of this is real. The arms around her are just memories, and that warm feeling of safety is a lie that will get her killed. It was too good to be true. She's really all alone in the dimness of an empty treehouse, waiting shivering in the overcast, cloudy grey cold. Waiting either for her inevitable death, or for someone who never gets the chance to come back to her. Someone she once _left_. An irrepressible shudder runs through her body.

The arms locked around her tighten even more in response to her tremor. They're an anchor that suddenly _catches,_ and she's back. Reality settles back into place, like one of Veera's perfect games of Tetris.

Niki inhales slowly and deeply. She takes in the clean smell of Veera's shampoo, the smooth-sharp aroma of the vigorously growing basil wafting from the sunny window, and the faint, savory-sweet scent of baking that somehow always clings to that purple hoodie. _Someday is right here_ , Niki thinks. Someday is now, someday is green with new growth, golden with morning light, as pink as the curtains in her window and as purple as the cotton hood crumpled against her cheek. _It's someday **now**. All I have to do is remember._

Niki turns her head to tuck it closer against Veera's, and lets her breath out in a long sigh. It sends brown strands of Veera's hair fluttering. It's still short compared to Niki's meticulously maintained midback cascade, but it's a lot longer than it used to be. It's far outgrown the shaggy pixie cut Veera had when they'd first met. Now, it's long enough that it gets curly at the edges, and floats just above her shoulders.

Veera sighs too, and melts even more completely into the embrace. She's not clamping her into the present now, just... holding. They inevitably begin breathing in the same rhythm, shedding tension with every exhale. Niki imagines it peeling away in layers like onionskins, and dissolving into the sunbeams that are pouring through the window.

Eventually, Veera stirs herself to take half a step back. She disengages her arms and begins to slip them out from under Niki's, only to slide into a clasp of forearms with her. Although Veera has a tendency to slouch, in this moment she stands as tall and uplifted as a flower reaching for the light. She looks Niki directly in the eyes: same hazel, same height. She cocks her head just slightly, a silent inquiry.

Niki looks right back at her, unable to help smiling again. She nods, _I'm okay_. It's so strange, how they have their own language that needs so few words. These days, they speak each other as fluently as the twins Fay and Femke do. It doesn't matter that they didn't grow up together. They've sunk roots into this space that they made to share, and they're only going to continue growing together.

The corners of Veera's mouth curl upward in a muted but earnest mirrored smile. She tilts her head back to its normal inclination. Then, with shy downcast eyes, she dips her head and waits: another silent request. Niki mirrors her and leans into the touch of their foreheads. The point of contact between them is a tangible thing. It balances and strengthens them, like a keystone at the top of the twin arcs of their spines.

As long as Niki can remember that _this_ is real, she'll be safe. As long as she _knows_ that this fearlessly soft version of herself _can_ be real and safe, she’ll make it. The bad forgetting will be haunting her for a long time. She’s realistic enough to know that. But with the strength of this vulnerability, she also knows that she can fight it and outlast it. Besides, Veera makes remembering easy.

The morning quiet is abruptly interrupted by a loud gurgle from Veera's stomach.

Niki gives a bright peal of laughter. "Go eat!" she exclaims, looking up into Veera's warm eyes again. She reaches up to tousle her already-messy hair. "I'm gonna scramble an egg." Veera's breath skips in a silent laugh. They disentangle and Niki steps further into the kitchen to fetch eggs from the fridge. Veera slips an arm past her to grab milk for her cornflakes while the door's open. Niki cracks the eggs into a bowl. She goes digging in the silverware drawer for a fork to whisk them together. She pinches a small sprig off of the basil and shreds a few leaves into her eggs: just a few of the larger leaves from lower on the stem. As Veera leans past her to put the milk back again, Niki reaches out and tucks the rest of the basil sprig behind her ear like a daisy.

Veera stands up straight and looks over her shoulder at Niki in surprise. She gingerly lifts a hand to identify the thing tucked behind her ear. Her brows contract a little as her fingers encounter something soft and green and giving. Then, her eyes widen with sudden understanding. She rubs one small leaf between her forefinger and the thumb looped through the thumbhole of her long sleeve. She sniffs at her fingertips, nodding as the aromatic oils confirm her suspicions. Her face crinkles into a bemused grin. The scarring on her cheek only accentuates her developing laugh lines. She meets her eyes and shakes her head slightly at Niki, _What's that about?_

Niki just grins at her. _Love you_ , she mouths over her shoulder. Then she goes back to seasoning her eggs.

As she cracks a bit of fresh black pepper into the bowl, fingers brush softly against her cheek. They gently scoop her long hair back and tuck it behind her ear. Then, something that feels suspiciously like a basil stem is delicately tucked there as well. Niki doesn't look up, smiling down into her soon-to-be breakfast.

Before Veera heads to the living room with her cornflakes, a gentle hand resting on Niki's shoulder puts the world on pause for a held breath. Niki holds still, closing her eyes and just _feeling_ the touch, and everything behind it. Before she and the moment both slip away, Veera gives her shoulder the lightest of squeezes.

_Love you too._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Home Sick](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063012) by [YaYaSestrahood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaYaSestrahood/pseuds/YaYaSestrahood)




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